


Let Us Not Be Fireworks

by raeldaza



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 07:12:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4295445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raeldaza/pseuds/raeldaza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac wants his proposal to be absolutely perfect, but trees keep getting in the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Us Not Be Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by this [poem.](http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1252449/fireworks/)
> 
> You guys should be grateful because I almost named it after a tree pun
> 
> FYI the idea for this came because on the 4th I was at a firework show and we were completely blocked by a tree so I spent the whole time daydreaming about this

Courfeyrac was pacing.

One step, two step, three step, pass the bed, four step, turn.

One step, pass the bed, two step, three step, four step, turn.

And repeat.

He had been doing so for about twenty-five minutes, which was uncoincidentally about how long it took Combeferre to take a long, healthy shower. 

They were currently in America, on a long over due vacation to celebrate their three year anniversary. Neither man had ever been across the Atlantic, and if they were going somewhere, being in the capital of the land of blind patriotism and unbridled enthusiasm during their Independence Day celebration seemed like as good a plan as any.

It was their last night in the states, July 4th, and both Combeferre and Courfeyrac had wanted to see the fireworks celebration as a final hurrah to their trip.

It was currently forty minutes until dusk, and Courfeyrac was getting seriously worried that Combeferre would spend too much time cleaning and dressing himself, making them miss the fireworks.

Courfeyrac desperately didn’t want to miss the fireworks.

“Are you almost ready, love?” He called, trying to keep his voice steady. “If we don’t leave soon, we’re going to miss it.”

“Almost.” Combeferre’s voice was faint through the door. “Just finishing up.”

“Okay,” Courfeyrac called back, his voice slightly too high-pitched. He paced one more length, and then turned back. “You could hurry, you know.”

“Patience,” was Combeferre’s reply, which was typical, but patience wasn’t something Courfeyrac was in high supply of tonight. He was jittery and unfocused, every breath felt deliberate, and his pulse had been rabbiting since the moment he woke tucked under Combeferre’s arm.

He was, to say, nervous.

“Sorry it took so long,” Combeferre said, stepping out of the bathroom. “I got distracted by the pine tree smelling soap.” Courfeyrac’s heart didn’t lurch at the sight of him anymore; it wasn’t that the love and adoration faded; it simply shifted. Shifted into something deeper, something more settled, something constant, something warmer. Something he hoped would be permanent.

“Let’s get going. I’m a slow driver here; their speed limits make me uncomfortable.” Combeferre just gave him a small smile, and toed on his shoes. Courfeyrac deeply loved the man, but he was a slow and careful human being by nature; normally Courfeyrac found it slightly endearing how carefully he tied his shoes, making sure every lace was perfectly straight, but right now, he just wanted to push his hands out of the way and get it done himself, quickly.

Finally, after a lifetime, Combeferre stood.

“Ready,” He said. Courfeyrac beamed, and hooked one hand around Combeferre’s elbow, leading him out of the hotel.

His other hand was in his pocket, playing with a little black box.

* * *

“Are you _sure_ this is the way?” Combeferre asked tentatively.

“Of course,” Coufeyrac tried not to snap. “I mapquested it. I memorized it.”

“Remember that one American at the gas station, though? They said MapQuest led them to an empty field instead of Walmart.”

“I’m sure it’s _fine,_ ” Courfeyrac said, trying not to let hysterical anxiety creep into his voice. “The directions will be fine, and we will get there on time, and we’ll watch the fireworks, and we’ll celebrate America splitting from the motherland with all the other foreigners, and it’ll be fine, it’ll be perfect.”

“It’s just…” Combeferre hesitated. “This is a dirt road. In Washington D.C. Doesn’t something seem a little off with that?”

“No, I’m sure—” Courfeyrac started, before letting out a shriek, slamming on the breaks. Combeferre lurched forward, his knee colliding painfully with the side door.

“What’s wrong?” Combeferre asked, alarmed. Courfeyrac just stared forward, his expression on the side of horrified. Combeferre followed his gaze, and saw a rather small oak tree lying across the road.

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Combeferre sighed. _A shame,_ Courfeyrac’s mind uselessly repeated. “It must have blown over in the storm last night. Can we turn around?”

“We’re in America. This place is absolutely massive, and not all roads lead somewhere. I’m afraid of getting lost. And my phone GPS doesn’t work here; I never got the international plan,” Courfeyrac answered, voice dulled slightly by the shock.

“Hmmm,” Combeferre hummed. “Maybe we can move it.”

“You think we can lift a tree?” 

“Worth a shot,” Combeferre shrugged. He pulled on Courfeyrac’s sleeve. “Put on your hazards, and come on.” Obediently, Courfeyrac pushed them on, and followed him out the door. The sun was almost gone across the horizon, pushing them towards dusk, sending a new shockwave of panic through Courfeyrac’s stomach. He hurried behind Combeferre, who was silhouetted by the headlights of the old Ford they rented.

“You grab the other end,” Combeferre directed. Silently, Courfeyrac followed his instructions. It took several minutes, many grunts, swearing, heaving, and heavy breathing, but they managed to push the tree over a car-sized length.

“Nothing to it,” Combeferre wheezed, hands on his knees. Courfeyrac sent him a look, which he quelled into something slightly softer at Combeferre’s tired smile.

“Let’s get going,” Courfeyrac finally said, heading back towards the car.

* * *

The road ended up just being a very, very detoured route to the road they needed. There was a high probability that literally any other road would have gotten them there faster, which was a fact that Courfeyrac was forcing himself to ignore for his own sanity.

It really shouldn’t have been a surprise, but most of the roads were closed down for the celebration, and it was almost claustrophobically packed with people. Courfeyrac's car creeped at a snail’s pace, trying to find a decent parking spot in the crowded sections, but eventually he just conceded defeat and went to park in a fairly abandoned part of the outskirts of the city, in an empty church lot.

“Relax, we’ve probably made it in time,” Combeferre said quietly, unable to ignore Coufeyrac’s tense frame.

“Relax,” Courfeyrac repeated, voice stressed. “Right, okay.”

They parked underneath a cottonwood tree, and as they climbed out of the car, they both noticed the tree shedding white fluff and sticky brown seeds onto the hood of their car.

“We should probably move it,” Combeferre said softly. Courfeyrac whined, distraught. “We’re renting the car, we shouldn’t have it covered in tree droppings.”

“Its _July,_ isn’t it too late for trees to be reproducing?” Courfeyrac said, resisting the urge to bang his head on the car’s frame. His right hand was in his pocket, twirling, twirling.

“Actually,” Combeferre said in that tone that hinted at an inexplicable enthusiasm, “Cottonwoods have a remarkably odd blooming life. They’re one of the latest to get their leaves, and one of the first to lose them—”

“Okay, okay, I love you, but tell me later,” Courfeyrac interrupted. A loud, distant boom went off above their heads, and a shower of white momentarily lit the sky. “We’re going to miss it.” He hurried to the trunk of the car, opening it. With a large twinge of regret, he bypassed the careful picnic he had packed, along with the cake that he special ordered from a bakery and the wine the grocery store clerk didn’t think he was old enough to buy, and grabbed the blanket he had brought all the way from France.

“Is that the blanket you made me when we were fourteen?” Combeferre asked, incredulous.

“Maybe,” Courfeyrac replied, grabbing his hand, and forcing him to run. Practice fireworks exploded over their heads as Courfeyrac quickly pulled him towards the perfect viewing place he found the day before when Combeferre was taking a nap. It was right across from the Washington Monument, in the grass, where they could perfectly look up into the dark, starry night, with the booming, resonant fireworks echoing in their ears and heartbeats above their heads. It’d be perfect, it’d be romantic, it’d be the perfect ending that would lead to their perfect beginning.

Courfeyrac pulled him along by his thumb, desperately hoping that _this_ would go all right.

* * *

 He shouldn’t have been able of it anymore, but Courfeyrac was still remarkably surprised and dejected when they arrived.

There were hundreds, _thousands,_ of people in the spot that he oh so carefully picked out. Even if they managed to squeeze themselves in between some people, they’d be surrounded by children, loud parents, camera flashes, teenage whisperings, and drunken men.

Courfeyrac raked a hand through his hair, thoroughly at a loss.

“Over here,” Combeferre said, gently leading Courfeyrac by the elbow. Courfeyrac noticed that there was a decent spot, fairly close to where they were setting the fireworks off, where no one was around. Trust Combeferre to find the only open spot in the entire city. Gently squeezing his hand, Coufeyrac followed him, his other hand still clenched in his pocket.

* * *

 As soon as the first firework went off, it became glaringly apparent why the spot was empty.

Their view was almost completely blocked by a massive maple tree. In a rather stupid fit of optimism, Courfeyrac stayed put, hoping that maybe they’d set them off higher as the night went on.

They did not.

After the ninth explosion in the sky, Courfeyrac turned into Combeferre’s shoulder, groaning.

“What’s wrong?” Combeferre asked, breathing into his ear.

“This was supposed to be a perfect night,” Courfeyrac muttered into his shoulder. “And it’s just a mess.”

“We’re together; it’s not a mess.” Combeferre replied, kissing the top of his head.

“You were so excited to see the fireworks,” Courfeyrac said, watching the specks of red from behind the tree.

“And I can see parts of them. It’s okay. I’m with you, and that’s what matters.”

“You talked about it for at least half the plane ride,” Courfeyrac said, biting his lip. He couldn’t reveal the real reason he was so stressed over the night, but he could  feel his anxiety over the situation seeping into his voice, which was probably why Combeferre turned completely away from the display, and stared deeply into his eyes.

Courfeyrac still thought they were mesmerizing, even fifteen years after when he first noticed the fact.

“I don’t care. I’m the smallest part disappointed, but it doesn’t matter to me. If you asked to stay inside the hotel and watch cartoons all night, I would have done it. This trip is about us, not about celebrating America.” His heart melting slightly, Courfeyrac leaned in, giving a familiar, well known kiss, hand reaching to cup the back of his head. Courfeyrac could feel the ricocheting boom in his heart after another firework exploded, but he was positive that wasn’t why he was so aware of his heartbeat.

And, with a sudden thought, he ungracefully pulled away, startling Combeferre slightly.

“I _have it,_ ” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “Let’s climb the tree.”

“Oh God,” was all Combeferre replied.

* * *

“Please come down,” Combeferre shouted, sounding anxious. He was mostly drowned out by the loud _Oooo’s_ and  _Ahhh's_ because of the fireworks coming from the crowd around them.

“No, you can see it better up here! Come up, climb!” Courfeyrac said, patting the branch next to him. Combeferre shook his head.

“No, I’ll fall and break something. Or you will. Please come down.”

“Combeferre, come _on,”_ Courfeyrac said, reaching down. Just as he was placing his foot on a lower branch, hoping to pull him up, his foot slipped on the water that was still present from last night’s storm, making his feet go out from under him.

As he was falling, Courfeyrac couldn’t even will himself to be surprised.

* * *

 Courfeyrac groaned, which immediately brought a warm, heavy hand cradling his skull.

“Hey, hey, you’re back,” a voice said hurriedly, relieved. “You gave me quite the fright.” Courfeyrac slowly opened his eyes, and found himself staring into Combeferre’s face, a little startlingly close.

“What did I do?” Courfeyrac asked, sighing. “My head hurts.”

“You fell out of a tree,” Combeferre replies. “You knocked yourself out for a few minutes there.”

“Sounds about right,” Courfeyrac said, and closed his eyes, silently wishing the ground could swallow him. Idly, he recognized that the fireworks were still going on above them, and it was still their third anniversary, and Combeferre still loved him even though he falls out of trees onto his head, but still – still, he’s absolutely decided to keep the carefully selected gold ring in his pocket out of sight until he can think of a new plan.

“I want to bring you to a hospital,” Combeferre said, his arm curving around Coufeyrac’s back. “Come on, sit up, slowly. How does your head feel?”

“Hurts a bit,” Courfeyrac replied, rubbing it with his hand. “I’d rather not to go the hospital, though. We don’t have medical coverage here, and hospitals in America are expensive as hell.” Combeferre’s lips thinned, and Courfeyrac could see he’s conflicted, but he knew he was winning this fight.

“Come on, you got through three years of nursing school, I’m sure you know what to do for a possible concussion. If need be, you can call Joly.”

“Nurses deal more with concussions than surgeons,” Combeferre pointed out, helping him off the ground, his arm still carefully, strongly around his shoulders. “I’m a better resource than him.”

“Then there’s really no need for outside medical help, is there?” Courfeyrac said, trying to wink. He dusted off his pants, picked up the blanket, folded it in his arms, and breathed a deep sigh.

“Let’s get you back,” Combeferre said, leading him back towards the car, across the fields of red, white and blue shirts, out of sight of the explosions above, away from all of Courfeyrac’s plans for the future.

* * *

When they've made it almost back to the car, the fireworks were only distantly hearable, and Courfeyrac was feeling remarkably miserable. 

It’s not like he couldn't propose some other time, but he had been planning this for _eight months,_ and had it perfectly planned. Their relationship was remarkably sans any large moments; they got together when they were twenty-three, in Coufeyrac’s last year of university, after being friends for thirteen years. Combeferre had been helping him study for a final, despite the fact he had no classes or knowledge in the subject. It was late at night, well after he was normally in bed, and Courfeyrac had leaned back into him, and whispered, “I love you, you know.”

Combeferre had replied, “As do I you.”

Courfeyrac, feeling tired and drained and sick of hiding, had quietly replied, “I mean that in a deeper way, you know.”

And Combeferre had replied, “As do I you.”

And that was that.

And that was also the phrase lining the ring that was now sitting completely ignored in Courfeyrac’s pocket.

Their first anniversary was taken in with a carrot cake and television, and their second at a poetry reading for Jehan.

Courfeyrac wouldn’t trade a moment of their relationship, not for anything, but he had wanted one milestone in their relationship to be dramatic, to have flair, to be memorable, extraordinary, unforgettable.

Proposing under the an explosion of colorful light in a foreign country with thousands of people around on the symbolic day of their relationship seemed to fit that criteria, and now the opportunity was completely gone, never to come again.

He wanted the night to be a firework, like their relationship, full of marvelous splendid beauty, and instead, it was like a flickering match.

Courfeyrac was staring at the ground, frowning, lost in his thoughts, while Combeferre walked silently by his side. He peaked a glance at Courfeyrac, and seeing his expression, gently grabbed his hand. Courfeyrac looked up, and gave him a small, sad smile.

At the exact moment he looked up, a root from a nearby choke cherry tree appeared seemingly out of nowhere, tripping Courfeyrac.

Eyes wide and arms pinwheeling at his sides, he lost his balance, and fell ungracefully to the ground, rolling a couple feet.

“Oh my God, are you okay? Is your head okay? You didn’t hit it again, did you?” Combeferre asked, kneeling anxiously by his side.

“I’m fine,” Courfeyrac said, sighing. He pushed himself to a sitting position. “Just embarrassed.”

“Don’t be, it happens to everyone,” Combeferre said. He looked slightly to Courfeyrac’s left. “I think something fell out of your pocket.” It took a second too long to click, and in that moment, Combeferre had reached too far forward to be stopped. With a dawning horror, Courfeyrac watched as Combeferre grabbed hold of the velvet box.

From the wide-eyed astonishment on his face, he immediately recognized it for what it was.

Groaning theatrically loudly, Courfeyrac hid his face in his hands.

“Just once,” he cried out. “I’d love for the universe to be on my side.”

With his eyes hidden in his hands, he couldn’t see Combeferre’s reaction, which he considered a plus. After a moment, he felt large, calloused hands begin to pull on his own, drawing them away from his face. Petulantly, he recoiled away, stubbornly hiding his face.

“No, let me be upset about this for a moment,” he said. Obediently, Combeferre stayed silent beside him. Courfeyrac could feel his body heat, could sense his large frame settle next to him, sitting cross-legged on the bumpy sidewalk.

He gave himself a few moments of serious self-pity, before he rolled his eyes at himself, pulled his hands away, and sighed.

“Okay, I think I’m over what an absolute miserable defeat that was now.”

“You had me worried, you know,” Combeferre said conversationally. Looking up from his shoes, Courfeyrac glanced at him. Combeferre was staring up at the dark sky, his hands turning the box over and over. “You were on edge the entire trip, especially today. You kept getting upset over the smallest things, like me taking too long in the bathroom, or a tree being in the way, or getting lost, or me rambling on about what I like. It wasn’t like you. Normally, you’d play these things off, enjoy them, treat them as an adventure. But you seemed sincerely annoyed.”

“I was nervous,” Courfeyrac explained, playing with his shoelace. “I had it all planned out, and nothing was going my way.”

“I didn’t know that,” Combeferre said, still staring at the sky. “Had me worried.”

“About what?” Courfeyrac asked, snorting. “That I’d break up with you?” At Combeferre’s shrug, Courfeyrac’s mouth dropped.

“You can’t be serious. You have to have more faith in our relationship than that; that just me acting oddly for a couple days made you question us.”

“Of course I have faith in us,” Combeferre said, finally looking over at him, a soft smile on his lips. “I was just worried you may finally have been getting tired of me. That maybe a week long vacation showed you that you need a little bit more space.”

“The opposite,” Courfeyrac said, and was pleased to see that it made Combeferre smile his large, genuine, toothy one.

“I see that,” he said, offering the ring back. Courfeyrac took it. The faint boom of fireworks had finally stopped, and the wind was starting to pick up around them. They silently sat together on the sidewalk, listening to the wind rustle the leaves of the trees and the birds quietly sing their evening songs. Night fell in its entirety, and it felt quiet and still, in that rather inexplicable way it can in decently sized towns, where the night was still alive with people and things and life, but calm in its own composed way.

“Are you going to ask?” Combeferre finally said, after several long, comfortable moments.

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac said. “Give me a moment to remember the speech.”

“I don’t need a speech,” Combeferre replied, shaking his head. “I would say yes in any possible way you’d ask me, whether it be in front of everyone we know, at a football game, hiding the ring inside a cake, on a mountain, on our couch, or in a foreign country. You have my yes. I don’t need it to be ceremonious.”

“I wanted it to be, though. Our relationship is surprisingly lack of dramatic, romance story moments. I just wanted one.”

“But that’s what our relationship is like,” Combeferre said, bumping shoulders lightly. “We’re quiet. We’re solid. We’re together. We’re calm. We’re steadfast. We’re not theatrical and I wouldn’t want us to be. And if I got to choose a proposal, I’d love one that mimics who we are, together.” Courfeyrac’s eyes went wide a moment, staring at Combeferre’s tender expression.

Maybe they weren’t a firework – yes, fireworks are beautiful, heart-pounding explosions of color and excitement, striking and loud and magical – but in the end, fleeting. Just a glorious moment of ecstasy, but transitory, leaving an empty sky full of the memory of the gunshot of excitement. Maybe they were more like the trees that had been stopping him all night – a slow, steady, deeply rooted, alive being, something that stays beyond almost all adversity, something that holds the test of time, something never faltering, never bending. And maybe it won’t take your breath away with its shocking magnificence, but it will leave you breathless by the wonder of its steadfast beauty if examined, if you care to see.

Courfeyrac closed his eyes, smiling widely, and leaned his head on Combeferre’s shoulder.

“I want to marry you,” Courfeyrac said, his heart bursting with love and happiness and the future.

“As do I you,” Combeferre replied, turning his head to kiss Courfeyrac’s temple. Courfeyrac sat up slightly, moving from a sitting positing to a kneeling one, and opened the ring box. Silently, Combeferre took it out, and slid it on his own finger.

“Will you marry me?” Courfeyrac asked, wanting to say it, despite knowing the answer. Combeferre nodded.

“Yes, of course.”

They smiled at each other for a moment, before Courfeyrac let out a happy sigh. Combeferre joined him with a small laugh, before standing to his feet. He lent a hand to Courfeyrac, and helped him stand to his feet. Their hands intertwined, they quietly, calmly, and steadily walked towards their car in the black of night. 

**Author's Note:**

> Say hi on [tumblr](http://raeldaza.tumblr.com) if you so want.
> 
> There needs to be more Courferre fics I swear, though maybe this edges on the slightly too fluffy side
> 
> As always, feel free to comment/kudo, I read/look at every one, but if not, have a blessed day, and thank you for reading


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